


Nostalgic

by aHostileRainbow



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aHostileRainbow/pseuds/aHostileRainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to the word prompt: nostalgic. Set in a random Star Trek: 2009 universe. He cannot quite identify the feeling...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgic

Spock stood statue-still for several moments, staring out over the fields of Iowa. He had been First Officer on the  _Enterprise_  for two years now. This was the crew's first shore leave in six months and the Captain had decided to take his closest friends—his bridge crew and McCoy, of course—home to meet his mother.

Winona Kirk was a beautiful woman despite her advancing age and she welcomed her son and his friends with open arms. It wasn't difficult to see where Jim got his charisma. Mrs. Kirk— _Call me Winona, dears!_ —had had a truly incredible feast spread on the dining room table within hours of their arrival. She even included several vegetarian dishes for her Vulcan guest. He had been surprised when she informed him as all of them moved chairs into the dining room, but didn't ask when Doctor McCoy commented on "Southern hospitality" and Mrs— _Winona_  laughed. Everyone had thoroughly enjoyed the meal and it had been gratifying to see his companions so happy after the stress of their last mission.

It was late and all of them should be sleeping soundly at this hour. Spock had attempted meditation but found he could not ignore the pangs of…something that he'd been suppressing since the first sighting of Winona. All day he had been having flashbacks to small scenes of his mother during his childhood. The smell of home-cooked casserole, the motherly hugs and pats, each affectionate gesture from their hostess recalled an aging, familiar pain.

Only now was he able to calm and identify the source: grief. But…there was something else to it—a layer, a flavor he had never experienced. He resisted the urge to sigh aloud, returning his attention to the view of moonlit cornfields. He remembered the few times his mother would lull him to sleep with tales of her own childhood on a farm much like this one.

Abruptly, he heard a murmur behind him. He spun on his heel, unable to believe he had become so caught up in his memories that he did not notice the new arrival. Nyota smiled at him where she stood, his beautiful bonded, his mate of half a year bathed in moonlight. He froze then, awe at her uncanny resemblance to the moon goddess of old Earth striking him and he was sure she felt it through their link when her smile broadened and she walked forward. She kissed him, chaste and sweet, murmuring once more when she pulled away, "Nostalgia. You're feeling nostalgic."

It did not surprise him that she sensed his troubles. He had a name now, though he still did not understand the emotion…She appeared to pick up on his continued uncertainty. Nyota moved forward to melt into his arms and breathed into his neck, "It's a warm sort of grief. Soft."

All he could do was nod, relishing the scent of her as they embraced in a moonlit cornfield and a vision of his mother grinned in his mind's eye.

" _Spock. As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother._ _"_


End file.
